


Acts of Love

by Mairyn



Series: Grey Stone and Scorched Earth [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Fix-It, Found Family, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Sibling Bonding, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29391240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mairyn/pseuds/Mairyn
Summary: Haurchefant doesn't die, but it's a near thing. As he recovers, Bram reflects on their relationship.Post-Vault Heavensward Fic. AU events.
Relationships: Haurchefant Greystone & Warrior of Light, Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light
Series: Grey Stone and Scorched Earth [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2159055
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	Acts of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Having a lot of fun writing for this pair, so I wanted to jot down this idea before it escaped me. I don't always save Haurchefant's life, but when I do it's because he has a boyfriend who loves him very much.

Haurchefant wouldn’t die, but it was a near thing.

When the chirurgeon stepped out of the sickroom and wiped the sweat off her brow, announcing that he’d live, Bram immediately made for the washroom and cried until his guts ached. It was relief, mostly, but also shame, because it never should have happened in the first place. When he spotted Zephirin, he should’ve done something. He should’ve been the one to take the blow, to do the protecting, as he so often did. But his love, his foolhardy, precious love, so kind and headstrong and eager to protect, had beaten him to the punch. And he’d sat there, frozen, as the spear rattled his shield, burning white hot, and then skewered him like a fish at supper.

_A smile better suits a hero._

Idiot. Precious, thick-headed, impossibly wonderful idiot. When he was recovered fully, Bram would have to resist the urge to wack him over the head. The love of his life, now and forevermore. Nearly lost.

Twelve, he’d nearly lost him.

When he pulled himself together, he washed his face, leaving no trace of his tears save for the slight redness about his eyes. Bram stepped out of the toilets and made his way back to the hall outside the sickroom, where the Count de Fortemps and Artoirel yet waited with grave looks upon their faces. He felt guilty for running off so quickly after receiving the news, for not allowing himself to grieve at their sides, but grief had ever been a private practice for him, and he didn’t want to worry them. Edmont looked up upon hearing his footsteps and Bram paused a few fulms away, hovering a bit awkwardly.

“Bram,” Edmont said, sounding tired beyond his years. “It’s good to see you’re alright.”

“I apologize for running off,” he said sheepishly, closing the distance between them and taking a seat on the same bench where Haurchefant’s father sat. “It’s just--”

“You needn’t apologize,” the Count waved a hand, the other wrapped firmly around the cane in his lap. His bad leg sat at an unnatural angle before him, in a likely attempt to lessen the ache. “That you care so deeply for my son is plain for anyone to see. I only hope you understand how ardently he returns the sentiment.”

Bram felt a prickling behind his eyes again, his chest swelling with that same aching frustration, but he bit it back. The words came out a bit breathless nonetheless. “I do.”

Edmont patted him on the shoulder, warm and fatherly. Bram wondered if this is what it was like: to have a paternal bond to rely on in moments of turmoil. He’d never so much as seen his own, though his mother assured him the likeness was plain in the angle of his jaw, the bump in his nose, his unnatural height. But the Count de Fortempts was ten times the man that bastard ever was, and he’d be glad to call him his own father if ever-- Well. Bram breathed deeply. He’d become too sentimental. The events of the day had broken him.

“We can see him after a bit,” Artoirel said from where he stood across the narrow hall. His arms were folded over his chest, his back rod-straight, as ever. Bram wondered if he ever faltered, or if the requirements of Ishgardian high society were so infused in his body he hardly recognized how unnatural his focus seemed in these moments of tragedy. “But only for a short time. The chirurgeon has urged rest above all else.”

Bram nodded. Even a moment was enough. He needed only one glance at Haurchefant--breathing, alive--and mayhaps that would be enough to remove the image of his blood spilling freely, his eyes half-glazed, his near-dying words.

_Forgive me, I couldn’t bear the thought of--_

It was only when the doors at the end of the hall opened and Mina walked in, looking small and so, so distraught, that he realized he’d yet to inform her of what had happened.

“Bram!” his sister shouted and rushed to close the distance between them, wrapping him in a strangling hug. “I just heard what happened.”

He couldn’t speak for a moment, and instead simply held his sister close, tears welling once more. Despite his best efforts, a few slipped free. He wiped them away on her shoulder before pulling back. She smelled like fresh soil.

“He’s alright,” he choked out at last. “He’s going to live.”

Mina’s terror softened, just a bit, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank the gods for that.” She turned to look at Edmont and curtsied slightly. “Sir, I’m so sorry to hear about your son.”

“Thank you, Mina,” Edmont replied gently. “I apologize that you weren’t informed sooner. As you were out on a botany excursion and no one knew when you’d return--”

“Please don’t worry after me,” Mina said, stopping him mid sentence. “Please focus only on Haurchefant.”

“Thank you,” he replied gratefully. “I am certain Bram appreciates your presence.”

Mina sat down in the gap between Bram and Edmont, pressing her hands anxiously between her knees. She was quiet, but nervous energy seemed to radiate off of her in waves. Bram could tell she wanted nothing more than to talk about it. After a long stretch of silence, he relented.

“Who told you?” he asked. As far as he knew, she’d been out in Dravania, gathering herbs for her poultices. It was possible she’d only just returned to Ishgard.

“Honoroit,” Mina said. Her muddy boots and knees further cemented his theory that she’d only just gotten back. “Artoirel sent Emmanellain home, but the young lord was so overcome he could hardly speak. Honoroit filled me in and told me you’d be here.”

Bram nodded. His sister was looking at him with wide, expectant eyes, like she was fearful he’d crack at any moment. It was annoying, but he appreciated the concern. Long had they been one another’s only source of familial support in the world. It was ever a comfort to have her nearby.

Mina had been the first to know about his feelings for the Elezen, though through no fault of his own. She’d managed to draw it out of him after one too many drinks and a few too many prodding questions at the Quicksand some handful of days before fate drove them to Ishgard. She’d flushed with delight and clapped her hands over her mouth, reacting only with a gleeful, I knew it! Then she’d pressed him, eagerly, for details. For all that he’d grunted and griped in the moment, flushing crimson, it was a pleasant memory.

She’d been the first person he’d told after they at long last acted on those feelings as well, after one too many aching days spent at Camp Dragonhead. He hadn’t told her the details, of course (as those were his and his alone), but when he’d said they were finally an item Mina hugged him tight and congratulated him on finally bedding the man after so very, very, exceptionally long.

His expression soured at that thought. Though they were Mina’s words, they rang true. Gods, they’d wasted so much time dancing around the question. And how might he have regretted it now, if he were standing at Haurchefant’s grave rather than his bedside? Never again, he vowed. He would never again waste the opportunity to convey his feelings to the man, wholly and openly.

Seeming to sense the shift in his emotions, Mina wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close, resting her head against the side of his arm. “Everything will be alright,” she murmured. “I know it.”

The chirurgeon arrived about an hour later, allowing them all a short visit if they wished it. She was a pretty woman, a Viera, with dark skin and dark hair, and a tiredness behind her eyes which belied the delicacy and direness of the work she’d spent the day performing. Her ears seemed to droop a bit with her exhaustion, but she smiled gently. Bram felt his legs stiffen.

“You can see him first,” Bram offered to Edmont and Artoirel, feeling his hands go clammy. “He’s family, after all.”

“You’re more than welcome to join us,” Edmont assured him. “I can think of no other he’d wish to see more than you.”

“I insist,” Bram said, and smiled weakly. More softly, he admitted, “I need a moment to collect myself before seeing him.”

“Of course,” Edmont nodded, understanding.

He stood, leaning heavily on his cane for a moment, then made his way down the hall at Artoirel’s side. Finally alone with Mina, Bram buried his face in his hands for a moment. The ease of only his sister’s company was like striking flint over oil. The ignition was instant.

“He could’ve died,” Bram said into his hands, and unbidden tears fell free, “He could’ve died and it would’ve been my fault.”

“Oh, Bram,” Mina whispered quietly, and leaned forward, gently rubbing his back. “I’m sure he doesn’t see it that way. He adores you. Surely he only thought to keep you safe--”

“What about keeping him safe?” Bram asked, sitting up suddenly. He looked at Mina a bit bitterly, which seemed to surprise her, but he relented after a moment. “I can’t help feeling that I failed him,” he confessed. “What good am I if I couldn’t protect him?”

A sudden, harsh thwack to the back of his head shocked him, and he reached up to cradle his injured scalp. One glance at Mina betrayed that she was angry, thin eyebrows knit together over eyes the same shade of blue as his own.

“You’re the Warrior of Light, you doofus!” Mina scolded him. “You spend so much time protecting others you hardly ever stop to think about yourself! Haurchefant jumped in front of that blow because he loves you and you repay him by beating yourself up over it?”

“Did you have to hit me?” he asked weakly.

“Yes!” Mina insisted, and folded her arms tight across her chest. “You can worry over him and be sad, but at the end of the day, having someone who loves you that much… Enough to die for you!” She shook her head. “You’re a lucky man, you jerk. Start acting like it.”

A brash and tactless approach to bringing him down, but no one who met his sister had ever called her delicate. No one quite managed to snap him out of his foulest moods like she could. Bram shook his head. Perhaps she was right. He could carry the guilt with him and try to do better, but in the end, what Haurchefant had done was an act of selfless, unrepentant love. The best thing he could do--the only thing he could do, truly--was return it in full.

“I guess you’re right,” he muttered, and dropped the hand that’d been rubbing his head back into his lap.

“I am,” Mina agreed.

Bram bristled a bit at her certainty, but was too exhausted to argue the point further. His mood had lifted enough to ease his anxiousness somewhat. Together he and Mina waited for Edmont and Artoirel to emerge from the sickroom, the candles lining the hall flickering dimly in their sconces. It was late now. Hours had passed since they’d rushed him and Lord Commander Aymeric out of the Vault. He’d seen neither hide nor hair of the Commander’s men in the time since, but his injuries hadn’t seemed so dire as to be life threatening. Surely he was fine.

Five or ten minutes passed in silence, until at last the door opened and Edmont stepped out into the hall, gesturing to the open door.

“He’s awake, though a bit confused,” Edmont called down the hall. The man’s relief was infectious. Haurchefant would be alright. “He asked after you.”

Bram sat on the bench a bit stupidly for a moment, lost to his own wave of relief.

“Go on, then!” Mina prodded him in the arm.

Bram leapt up and looked down at his sister, still firmly planted on the bench. “You’re not coming with me?”

“I’ll see him tomorrow,” she promised. “You two need to talk alone.”

He stared down at her for a moment, but knew she was right. He nodded. A bit anxious once more, he made his way down the hall and into the sickroom, the chirurgeon quietly closing the door behind him. She headed over to her desk in the corner, giving them as much privacy as she could.

Haurchefant lay on his sickbed, bandages stained pink with blood wrapped around the entirety of his chest and stomach. The scar would be a nasty one, when all was said and done. The spear had punched a hole through his stomach the same circumference as a longsword’s grip. It was only through the Twelve’s grace -- or Halone’s, Hydaelyn’s, whoever might claim it -- that it’d missed anything vital enough to end his life. Fear melting a bit, Bram’s eyes drifted to the Elezen’s face. Despite his obvious exhaustion, Haurchefant smiled.

“Bram,” he said gently. Reverently. Like it was a blessing.

Bram rushed forward and kissed his forehead, gently, then the tip of his nose, his cheek, and at long last his lips, tears falling freely. Haurchefant weakly returned his gesture, smiling against his lips. He was alive. Thank the Gods, he was alive.

“Thank you,” Bram said at last, pulling away to look him in the eyes. “You nearly died for me. I can’t even begin--”

“Think nothing of it,” Haurchefant assured him. He winced as he shifted a bit against the bed. “I’d bear this injury a thousand times if--”

Bram choked on a laugh, stopping him halfway through his grand declaration and wiped his eyes. “You overly-romantic fool.”

Haurchefant settled back against his pillows, a grateful smile on his lips. He rested one large hand against his abdomen, lightly. After a moment, he quietly confessed, “‘Tis you who make me so.”

They stared at one another for a long while, simply grateful to each find the other alive. Haurchefant looked as though he could fall asleep at any moment -- an effect of sedatives, no doubt, for the pain -- but he fought his exhaustion for the time being.

“Thank you,” Bram repeated after a while. He grabbed Haurchefant’s nearest hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing it gently before carefully letting it rest against the mattress once again. He did not let go.

“I fear I won’t be protecting anyone for quite some time,” Hauchefant said after a long silence, rubbing his thumb against Bram’s knuckles drowsily. “I hope you can forgive me.”

“I’ll do it for the both of us,” Bram promised. “I’ll follow the Archbishop to Azys Lla, and I’ll end this war once and for all. And when it’s over,” his voice broke a bit at the thought, “we can rest.”

It was a lie, and they both knew it. Something would always draw them apart. The world would always need saving. But it was a pretty lie, all the same.

“Yes,” Haurchefant agreed. “That sounds wonderful.”


End file.
